


( blood & grace ) ;

by theangelscribe_ (HurricaneHannah)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Flashbacks, Hunt Gone Wrong, Implied Violence, Injured Dean Winchester, M/M, Protective Samandriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2019-08-03 03:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16318136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricaneHannah/pseuds/theangelscribe_
Summary: -I almost lost you.-I'm here.





	( blood & grace ) ;

**Author's Note:**

> **!** originally written in 2017, uploading now.  
>  **!** originally written for a request.
> 
> ∞
> 
>  **a/n:** even over a year later, this fic still remains both my favourite spn fanfiction to have written / the best one I have written ( in my humble opinion. )

* * *

   


“Mmm, _angel_ – whatcha doing?”

Dean had felt himself being slowly extracted from the blackness of his dreamless sleep – a pleasant white/blue haze filling the dark void.

As the hunter’s awareness had begun to sharpen, he could feel the tender skimming of fingertips brushing the exposed skin of his back.

Fingertips that did not pull away at his sleep-slurred words, but did seem to momentarily tense.

Opening his green eyes, Dean focused into the soft grace-lit eyes of his angel. “Samandriel…”

“I was checking to make sure your injuries had effectively healed.”

Dean let out a gruff breath as his mind filtered through the events of yesterday’s _hunt gone wrong._

   


_The witch -_ why was it **always** a fucking witch? _\- had gotten the magical drop on him and Sam. She sneered at them, muttering something about_ men _and_ hunters _and_ not knowing when to keep their noses out of her business _; and then she casted the spell - a spell she aimed at Sam. On brotherly instinct, Dean had shielded Sam with his body, taking the magical brunt to his back. Then all there had been was the pain; the slicing_ agony _of his skin splitting that reminded him of his endless years on hell’s soul racks._

 _He remembered he hadn’t cried out in pain - at least not verbally, but it had been enough to warrant the violent flap of wings and an unfamiliar scream of the standard,_ close your eyes!

_Somewhere in-between the pain, the blood loss, and the heavy disorientation of grace flooding the atmosphere, Dean wasn’t scared to admit that, for a few heartbeats, his mind had blacked out._

_What_ had _scared the hunter was when his eyes blurred into awareness, he was looking up into a familiar yet completely foreign face. Eyes that could never seem to pick either a soft blue or pale green were wide and blatantly afraid; a mouth that always appeared glued up with a permanent smile was now taunt, the sides hitching with every inhale/exhale; cheekbones that dipped into valleys when smiling were the cascading backdrop of a waterfall of tears._

 _Samandriel had always been an angel who wore his emotions openly; but the hunter had never seen him so openly_ destroyed _since the day Sam, Castiel, and himself had rescued him from Crowley’s demonic clutches._

 _In the end, what had truly terrified the gruff hunter - so much so that in an instant he forgot his_ no chick-flick _moment rule - was the violent trembles of the angel. Never had Dean seen an angel lose such control over their vessel - not even in some instances when they were severely injured or dying._

_Samandriel’s arms were still outstretched; his fingers splayed out, one palm overlapping the top of the other hand - almost appearing as if ready to perform CPR. Dean knew better. He could still feel the whispering touch of grace under the skin of his back. An unconformable, sticky-feeling coated the exposed back-flesh, but there was no pain._

_Samandriel had healed him. Though despite that, the angel was still looking at him - no_ through _him - as if Dean were dead; as if he were a ghost._

_“Samandriel,” despite the harsh grate of his voice, the angel’s eyes quickly jerked to his; pupils dilating and constricting as if the angel’s mind couldn’t tell whether to be relieved or still scared._

_The trembling didn’t cease, however. If anything, it appeared to become more intense. Using one hand to lift his body from the cold warehouse floor - why couldn’t all witches live in nice suburban homes or cozy apartments? - his other encircled both of Samandriel’s wrists._

_This warmth of the skin to skin contact was what finally broke the angel’s conflicted state. With one last wild shudder, Dean felt Samandriel’s body collapse into his chest. The wrists that were still grasped by the hunter’s fingers were clawing at the front of Dean’s shirt like he was trying to pull his very essence into the man._

_Dean’s active mind gave a quick jolt when his subconscious whispered that if it would help the distraught angel in his arms, he would invite the angel into himself._

_But before he could really analyze that sudden impulse, a voice snapped him back to reality. “Dean?”_

_The voice was low and gravely, which ruled out the angel in his arms. Looking up and over, Dean saw Castiel standing - baring the frame of his moose of a brother with ease._

_Despite needing the seraph’s side to support him, Dean could tell that Sam was alright - his face was pinched, but it wasn’t pain; it was Sam’s brand of worry, split between Dean and the broken angel in Dean’s arms._

_Dean nodded to his little brother and some of the worry eased from the younger hunter’s eyes, and then he turned to his best friend. “Cas, we’re fine - can you guys give us a bit?”_

_The angel nodded his head back at Dean and reached out to grip the other hunter’s shoulder - most likely readying to angel-air Sam back to the bunker instead of the motel room the boys had been crashing at._

_Just as Castiel’s fingers were lowering to cup Sam’s opposite shoulder, Dean noticed a slight twitch run from the top of the angel’s arm through to his fingertips._

Looks like Samandriel wasn’t the only angel worried about his hunter _, Dean thought, and then the two men vanished._

 _With Sam and his angel home and safe, Dean refocused on_ his _angel. “Samandriel - “_

 _“I could_ feel _it Dean - you didn’t even pray and I could still feel the shredding of my grace as if I were the one being flayed!” His voice was hysterical, ringing with an undertone of the angel’s true voice; and then all at once the angel went quiet and still, pulling away from Dean’s body, “I almost lost you.”_  
  


__** ∞ ∞ ∞ **  
  


“Dean!”

With a harsh mental tug, the hunter’s mind was forced to refocus to the present; the vision of the desolate warehouse melting back into their familiar room at the bunker.

Before he could mentally readjust, Dean once again found himself with a shuddering angel pressed to his chest. “Samandriel?” ~~~~

“I’m sorry, but please - enough. Don’t take me back there.”

Realizing that he had projected his memories - forcing Samandriel to relive the events; Dean threw one arm along the angel’s shoulder blades, crushing their fronts’ together; the palm of his other hand cupped the cold skin of the angel’s neck, manoeuvring their foreheads to rest together.

Staring deep into one another, the hunter could see the angel’s confession pulse along with his agitated grace: _I almost lost you. I almost lost you. I almost lost you. I almost lost you. I almost lost you. I almost lost you._

With mouths open - breathing the other in, Dean confessed too: “I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ **tumblr.** ](https://the-butterflydiaries.tumblr.com/)


End file.
